


Timespace Hysteria

by Anonymous



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Impulsiveness, Other, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, Reset-Happy Frisk, Sans Remembers Resets, Substance Abuse, Suicide Attempts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-05-30 04:34:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15089078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The world was at peace.It took six years of incivility, but humankind was finally accepting the monsters as their equals. Integration on the surface was a success.And then, it never happened.When the universe resets for the first time in years, Sans is presumably the only one to notice. Without a soul to confide in, he finds a twisted comfort in the last route available—taking his own life.Unfortunately, it isn't that easy.





	1. lazybones

**Author's Note:**

> Man, am I indecisive or what? I promise, this is the last time I'm changing the title. _Timespace Hysteria_ is here to stay.
> 
> Anyway, this is a rewrite of something I posted a little while back. I've since deleted it out of insecurity and inconsistency, but it should be good to go now!
> 
> Any type of feedback would make my day, so don't hesitate to leave a comment if you like! It’s entirely up to you.

Six years.

 

It had been exactly six years since the monsters were freed from their dismal prison below the earth. Adjusting to their sudden arrival was a struggle for humankind, but over time, they would learn tolerance and empathy toward the strange, new families of the Underground.

 

Most blamed the ambassador. At only a staggering eight years old, they were the eighth human to have disappeared into Mount Ebott, and the first to have survived it all to tell the brutal story. Monsters would praise their unending determination, humans would gush over their visions of world peace, and everyone seemed at least a little happy.

 

_Six years._

 

Humankind would persecute others of their own race for centuries, yet it only took _six years_ for monsters to feel welcome in their overdue home on the surface.

 

It happened all at once. The newfound freedom, the hope, the wonder of a united world on the surface.

 

It vanished just as quickly.

 

The skeletal monster hadn’t even known his empty eyes could spill tears until the night he awoke in a haze, dizzy with a hangover he shouldn’t have even had. It was supposed to be the middle of summer, but the ice glazing the windowpanes told otherwise.

 

“...Paps?”

 

The smell of charred breakfast wafted through the bitter fog in his mind. The skeleton choked—not on the odor, but on the memories he had left behind so long ago.

 

He’d seen this ceiling before. He’d known that smell.

 

He’d recalled those long, freezing nights, where even his jacket couldn’t shield him from the lonely chill he felt in his soul. Yes, he’d lived this all before.

 

_This is just a nightmare, isn’t it? This can’t be real, this can’t be happening. Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake…_

 

“Sans!” his brother shouted from beneath the cluttered floorboards. “You _lazybones!”_

 

The light in the monster’s eyes died like a doused candle, dread and disgust boiling in his soul. Reminding himself to breathe was suddenly the last of his worries.

 

He didn’t wake up.

 

* * *

 

What they _did_ have was nice. A heater was installed in each room, coupled with a thermostat that worked at least half the time. Their apartment was small, sure, but it was familiar and cozy. The new layout made for a nice change of pace compared to their old home in Snowdin.

 

The two brothers would stay there for as long as they could financially manage, but nothing could drive them back to the Underground. _Even if that means moving in with Female Asgore_ , Papyrus would declare. It’s not like they were an exception, either—hardly anyone returned to Mount Ebott after the barrier was destroyed, at least on a regular basis. A few select families chose to stay behind, but even they were chased to the surface after the Underground’s provisions fell scarce.

 

It wasn’t so bad, but if Sans was being completely honest, it was really kind of breathtaking. Stargazing was _actually_ stargazing, rather than just watching crystals fall from the cave ceiling when he threw rocks at them. The plains were so open and grassy, and if he dared to explore them during sunset, he would find that they always made the perfect picnic spot.

 

Not to mention, with temporal shenanigans out of the way, Sans’ energy steadily returned. He found himself waking up at the same time as his brother, and even helping out with the dishes on days he was feeling especially generous. Papyrus was stunned. Had the smaller monster always been so motivated?

 

Back in the Underground— _back in Snowdin_ —things were different. Something was very, very wrong, but only Sans himself seemed to be aware. He couldn’t describe it easily.

 

_The timespace continuum is in disrepair, and there’s no telling why. The present becomes the past, and the future… it just crumbles away, like it was never bound to happen. Can’t you remember?_

 

Sans would repeat those last three words a hundred times across a hundred timelines, but not a single soul would recall them.

 

Instead, they became broken records.

 

He gave up trying to “fix” it, trying to somehow find his way back to a previous life where everything was boring and predictable and _normal_. Confronting the faceless monster was surely something outside of scientific boundaries, right?

 

Fortunately, and Sans would thank the very stars for this every night, it all eventually came to an abrupt end after the barrier collapsed. The broken records were mended, the sleepless nights were pacified, and Sans had no one to blame or even thank.

 

“Brother! Have you fallen asleep already?” Papyrus would shout from across the flat. Countless neighbors had filed complaints due to his… _boisterousness_ , but nothing ever seemed to be done about it. Sans made sure to reason with the landlord in his brother’s place. Hush money may or may not have been involved.

 

“Nah, you kidding?” Sans would reply from his room, digging through his belongings. “I can’t let my little bro go to bed without his story.”

 

Papyrus beamed.

 

* * *

 

“Sans?”

 

Papyrus tapped on the older brother’s door. No response.

 

“I’m coming in, Sans!”

 

Papyrus fidgeted with the knob. Locked.

 

“I’m in no mood for this!”

 

Crossing his arms, Papyrus stamped away from his room and trudged down the stairway as sternly as he could feign. He would later abandon Sans to recalibrate a puzzle or embellish a trap, but under no circumstances would he remember his aforementioned life on the surface.

 

Sans violently pulled down the hood of his jacket, hiding his eyes from the sight of his old room. His mind was a hurricane of unadulterated horror and loathing, loathing for whomever (or whatever) was responsible for making his life a living ring of false hope and resurgent nightmares. Flashing through his mind were countless images of humans he’d met from the outside world, but only now did they seem like faraway dreams that were just a little too real and a little too sad.

 

There was no escape. Sans was beside himself in a merciless god’s hell, teased with freedom like a disfigured dog fettered by only a leash.

 

Papyrus wouldn’t understand. No, he’d tried telling him many lifetimes ago, didn’t he? The lady behind the door wouldn’t understand, either.

 

Sans couldn’t understand. But maybe, for once, he didn’t need to.

 

* * *

 

Cold and still, the river waters ran silently through the snow-topped trees of Snowdin, beckoning the monster closer to its unbroken waves. Sans obliged.

 

Sculpting a clump of snow in his gloved hands and tossing it into the currents, Sans watched with envy as it plummeted atop the river, sinking into nonexistence as it met with the endless depths of the stream, gentle and quiet and hidden.

 

No one would remember a worthless mass of snow. Sans hoped to be just as lucky.

 

The water continued to ripple for what seemed like an eternity, rebounding from the snowball’s merciless death until it inevitably calmed once more. Without emotion to spare, Sans strode closer to the icy river, closer to his own grave until he _so happened_ to stumble into the water itself, his soul sinking and dying just as painfully slow.

 

From above the river’s surface, a taller figure appeared. Smeared colors of red and white blended into an image of a friend, and a brother.

 

His hand would reach out for his Sans’ body, but all he would grasp is watery dust.

 

Papyrus wouldn’t remember this by morning.


	2. straight gin

Spilling from the windows was a soft light, clouded only by the falling snow outside. Without a sun or a moon, there was no telling what time of day it was, but sheer intuition told Sans it was morning. Again.

 

The same bedroom ceiling stared back at the monster’s empty form, awaiting his next pathetic attempt at wiping the memories of the surface from his ever-fragile mind.

 

“Sans! You _lazybones!”_

 

The realization struck him, and all at once he was swallowed by the same raw breed of terror that had haunted him so many years ago. The immediate night before, Sans _should_ have died via asphyxiation, right? That was his intention, anyway. Before his vision went dark and the world seemed to turn over on its side, the skeleton could have sworn he’d seen the frightened silhouette of his younger brother, extending his hand toward him through lucid waters.

 

Falling into the river was a stupid, impulsive move, sure—but even now, all that Sans regretted was that it somehow didn’t kill him.

 

Lying motionless on his dingy mattress, he heard his brother march up the stairs with trademarked indignation. This must have all become routine at some point, because yesterday had seemed so similar.

 

“Sans?”

 

Papyrus tapped on the older brother’s door. The day before, he would have heard no response.

 

“Yeah, bro?”

 

But today was different. Sans would make sure of it.

 

The smaller monster was unmoving, unfeeling, unhinged. Nevertheless, he refused to rehearse the same disturbed speechlessness he had grown so used to. Any more repetition and he might’ve lost what little mind he still had left.

 

“You’re… awake?! Could I be dreaming?” Papyrus gasped from across closed doors. Void of any real sensation, Sans chuckled. He wasn’t enjoying this.

 

“You’re wide awake, Paps,” the older monster asserted, his tone colder than the snowfall trickling down his bedroom window. “I, uh, went to bed early last night.”

 

“You go to bed early every night.”

 

Sans couldn’t bring himself to respond. Each word from his mouth became heavier in succession, and he wasn’t sure he could handle the imminent weight of a “Haha, I know,” or an “I really just wanted to surprise you.”

 

An uncomfortable silence stood between the two. Papyrus knocked on the door again.

 

“Are you okay, Sans?”

 

Oh.

 

_No, I can’t do this anymore, I can’t pretend like I know what day or year it is, I can’t act like everything's okay and I didn’t just try to kill myself, how are you all right with this, etc. etc. etc...._

 

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sans stood at the kitchen counter, stunned and absent of any coherent thought. Papyrus worked patiently beside him, preparing his catastrophe of a breakfast before shoveling the burnt remains of his pan onto two porcelain plates. A fracture ran down the side of each, tempting the smaller monster to press his thumb against the plate until it littered the floor with star-shaped fragments, but he didn’t want to burden his brother with the mess.

 

Humming the lyrics of a song that would release years from now, Sans’ wandering eyes met the brimful glass of black coffee awaiting him, cold and untouched, and then the emblem below his brother’s scarf. The monster always wondered what it meant.

 

“Hey, Papyrus, I’m—”

 

“Hey!”

 

“—really sorry about what happened yesterday.”

 

Sans took a deep breath, holding it in for just a second too long. If there was any good left in the world, it’d surely kill him.

 

“But…how’d you find me?” Sans rubbed the back of his skull, wavering somewhere between uncaring and horribly ashamed. “I figured it wasn’t really obvious, going to the river and all. I’m kinda surprised you thought to look there.”

 

Papyrus was silent, and confused, and a little alarmed. His next words dragged on with sincerest concern, but not without a burning distress in the back of his throat.

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

Sans paused, gazing through Papyrus’ scarf with half-lidded eyes. It took him far, _far_ too long to process the words from his brother’s mouth.

 

Then, finally meeting Papyrus’ eyes, he grinned.

 

“You’re joking, right?”

 

“No! Really! You... fell in a river?”

 

The older monster’s smile faded in an instant. Papyrus knelt down, an air of curiosity and—was that panic?—painted on his face. He placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, listening, waiting, anticipating some dismissal of his words, as if he’d remembered the whole thing was only a nightmare.

 

“Can’t you remember?”

 

Furrowing his brows, Papyrus frowned. Sans braced for the worst.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Papyrus, I _drowned_.”

 

“You were sleeping at your post all day yesterday! I had no idea, Sans, I didn’t think—“

 

“What?”

 

Sans blinked, his fist clenched so tightly it hurt. He never went to work the day before. Truthfully, he hardly did anything but stay in bed all morning before warping himself to the riverside, miserable and heartsick, as if he’d lost someone important. Which, in a way, he did.

 

He’d lost lots of someones that day.

 

But amidst it all, not once did he even _think_ about his old job since the continuum rewound itself. Sans couldn’t imagine returning to his past life like nothing ever happened. He didn’t want to be a sentry or a vendor or a jurist, he didn’t want to constantly drain the energy from everyone around him just so he could pull himself out of bed each morning.

 

Papyrus must’ve been thinking of a different monster.

 

“You—you were sleeping at your post. You do it every day?” Papyrus emphasized his last words with uncertainty, as if his statement were somehow a question. Sans shuddered.

 

“This isn’t funny.”

 

“I said I was sorry!” Papyrus stood up, crossing his arms. “I would’ve been the first to come rescue you if I had known.”

 

“It wasn’t an accident.”

 

The taller skeleton froze.

 

“You don’t even remember someone bringing me home?” Sans continued, scoffing. “It’s not like I just walked back afterwards.”

 

“It… wasn’t an accident?” Papyrus choked out, nearly whispering. “Oh my god, Sans, you never… I never...”

 

Trailing off, the younger monster covered his mouth. Tears caught at the edges of his eyes, leaving him sniffling and confused. He wouldn’t have ever guessed how troubled his brother really was, not until now.

 

“I mean! I should have been there for you!” Papyrus knelt down again, before wrapping Sans in a tight embrace and lifting him high. “There’s so much you have to live for!”

 

Sans wanted so badly to be angry, but this _was_ Papyrus, after all.

 

“You know what?” Sans grudgingly smirked, wriggling out of his brother’s grip to look him in the eyes. “It was probably just a bad trip or something. Maybe I took your medication last night, I don’t know. But I appreciate it.”

 

It was a blatant lie. Besides, Papyrus’ “medication” was only a prescription sleep aid recommended for larger monsters.

 

Not knowing exactly what happened yesterday was eating away at Sans’ soul, but maybe it was better if Papyrus wasn’t a part of it. He reckoned it didn’t concern him, anyway.

 

“Oh, Sans!” Papyrus squeezed him again, making sure not to crush any bones. If Sans was anything, it was _vulnerable_. “I’ll make sure to protect you from here on out!”

 

“Heh. Thanks, bro.”

 

Papyrus lowered Sans to the ground, before posing dramatically with one hand on his metaphorical heart, and the other on his hip. “You are _sincerely_ welcome, brother! Just… promise me that won’t happen again! Your pills are in the blue bottle, remember?”

 

“You have my word, Paps.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The booth smelled of wet dog and rusted copper, all of which added to the more-than-questionable charm of Grillby’s. Abandoning the seat for a cleaner one in front, Sans squeezed himself toward the table’s end until he was alone in the corner of the diner, cradled by cold, wet walls.

 

The skeleton slumped down onto the tabletop, his face buried within the sleeves of his jacket. Countless questions raced through his mind at a thousand miles per second, tearing him apart piece by piece as he soundlessly screamed into his sweater’s fabric.

 

_The fabric._

 

It struck him like a knife ripping through his chest. The fabric was dry. The entire morning, the fabric had been dry.

 

After submerging himself into a watery abyss with no plans of returning, after sinking and choking on every last bead of water that would dig into his ribcage like glass spearheads, the fabric of his jacket was _dry_.

 

Sans wanted nothing more to do with this.

 

“...Are you awake?” a soft voice asked from in front of the booth, accompanied by a breathy laugh and a notepad in one hand. Snapping out of the fear-ridden fog, Sans lifted his head only to be met with the blurry sight of crackling flames and a pair of suspended glasses.

 

“Sorry, Grillby.” Sans rubbed his eyes, adjusting to his friend’s lighting. It was no wonder the restaurant was so poorly lit—Grillby himself seemed like more than enough illumination for one room. Toying with one of the two vials in his pockets, Sans sheepishly smiled. “Straight gin?”

 

Grillby lowered his notepad.

 

“Straight?”

 

“Yeah,” the skeleton answered. “If you can.”

 

It wasn’t like that was the first time he’d ordered something absent from the menu. Before finally coalescing with the rest of the monsters on the surface world, Sans would request that same drink over and over again. Each time the continuum restarted, he’d restart his little trend, too. And each time, Grillby would oblige. Reluctantly.

 

It became a tradition that no one but Sans understood, or even remembered. He cherished it, even if that made him something of an alcoholic.

 

“Righto,” the flaming monster nodded, retreating to his station behind the bar counter. Sans’ eyes followed him impatiently, tapping his feet beneath the table despite being too short to reach the floor. He silently popped open a small, orange bottle from his pockets with a single ungloved hand, waiting anxiously for his friend to return with his drink. The last thing he needed was for someone to find him here in the middle of the day.

 

He needed to get this over with.

 

Grillby glanced at Sans whilst cleaning one of his shot glasses. The skeleton almost forgot he was staring. Waving awkwardly, Sans redirected his line of sight to the salt and pepper shakers at his end of the table. Nothing wrong here.

 

“Sans!” a familiar voice breathlessly called out, bursting through the door of the pub. Just his luck.

 

Locating Sans amidst the empty tables, he sped his way to the opposite side of the booth with the brightest smile Sans might’ve ever seen on Papyrus. It suited him well, to tell the truth.

 

Papyrus didn’t seem fazed in the slightest to find his brother here, but maybe he was just _that_ predictable. Sans visited Grillby’s often before the first timeline restarted itself, but never for alcohol. Not in front of the taller skeleton, anyway.

 

“Sans—I nearly forgot to tell you!” Papyrus gasped out. He didn’t wait at all to regain his breath before speaking again. Sans figured it was just another learned behavior from hanging around dogs so often. “I was going to train with Undyne today, but I saw you left your phone at home, so I’m thinking, hey! I should go return it to you, right?”

 

“Right.”

 

“But then I thought of all the things you said to me earlier, and how I should’ve done more for you… and then it hit me! This could be the perfect chance to tell you how much you mean to me! I can’t have you doubting our brotherly friendship ever again.”

 

“Oh.” Sans paused. “That… actually means a lot to me, Papyrus. Thanks.”

 

“Of course!”

 

“You said you had my phone?”

 

Papyrus opened his mouth to reply, but hesitation assumed control.

 

“A-about that…”

 

“It’s okay,” Sans laughed. “I didn’t need it anyway.”

 

And he didn’t. If Papyrus would just leave him alone for _five minutes_ , Sans wouldn’t ever need it again.

 

The lighting near their booth steadily rose, casting menacing shadows onto the walls. “Your drink,” Grillby hummed, setting a glass afront the two monsters before adjusting his spectacles. “Anything for your friend?”

 

“He’s fine—”

 

“Do you have any milkshakes?” Papyrus interrupted, eagerly clasping his hands.

 

“We do,” Grillby responded, his voice chiming with composure. The taller skeleton’s eyes lit up.

 

“Wowie!”

 

Sans sighed, gritting his teeth under the towering pressure. Papyrus didn’t deserve to see what was about to happen.

 

“Shouldn’t you be doing _something_ with Undyne right now?” the older monster snapped, far more aggressive than he intended.

 

“We don’t normally train on Tuesdays.”

 

Papyrus removed his wallet from the pockets of his shorts, clearly embellished with cut-out images of skulls and bones he found on the Undernet and clumsily taped onto his belongings. After grabbing a handful of loose change and pouring it into Grillby’s scorching hands, he winked at his brother and sat his hands in his lap, waiting patiently for Grillby to take out his notepad.

 

“One milkshake, sir—”

 

“To-go,” Sans swiftly added. “Make it to-go.”

 

“What? I wanted to drink it here with you, Sans.”

 

“Look, Paps,” the smaller monster groaned, absolutely loathing what he was prepared to say. “The Royal Guard has standards, too.”

 

Papyrus’ shoulders wilted, his expression just as flustered.

 

“I’ve seen you lately, bro. You’re, uh, not working as hard as you used to. What if you _never_ join the Guard?”

 

His words tasted like the black coffee he left sitting out that morning: callously bitter. He wasn’t sure he could keep this up, especially with his brother’s crestfallen eyes wordlessly staring into him.

 

“Take my word for it. Just… go over to Undyne’s, right now. Even if only for a couple minutes, I’m sure you’ll win her over.”

 

Papyrus looked mortified. Sans hadn’t even noticed Grillby walking away with his brother’s change, having a rather unnerved aura about him. He most likely overheard their one-sided exchange, but in all fairness, they were the only two sitting in the restaurant.

 

“You really want me to leave?” his brother squeaked out.

 

“C’mon, don’t say it like that,” Sans insisted, the volume of his breath betraying him. “Think of it like an errand. I’ll be right here when you get back.”

 

He almost choked on those last words.

 

Papyrus stood up from his seat only moments before parting ways, his expression suddenly unreadable. He had said nothing out of anger or even shame, but perhaps that was exactly what you’d expect from a monster as harmless as he.

 

The second he left the building, Sans downed his drink before ordering two more.

 

“Should I give you his milkshake?” Grillby asked.

 

“You can just pour it down the sink.”

 

As Grillby withdrew to his enclosed kitchen alongside the bar, Sans was finally able to empty his pockets. In front of him lay two, small vials: one orange, one blue.

 

Into his hand spilled the contents of the orange bottle—little white pills used for insomnia. He dropped them into his mouth before swilling the last of his glass, the gin stinging like spearmint through his teeth. He hated it, but so treasured the pain at the same time.

 

From the opposite bottle were darker, bluer pills. _Antidepressants_.

 

It wasn’t long before he followed the same number with his second glass. The capsules filled his mouth like water from a filthy, overflowing bath, but in an instant the drain was pulled once again, setting free the memories of a horribly damaged life. It hurt like hell to swallow, but the biting pain only made it so much more comforting.

 

At long last, Sans found his escape. Whatever had saved him from ultimately dying the day before, whatever had saved him and _thought to replace his jacket afterwards_ couldn’t have possibly undone his second attempt. His body was already striding past the point of no return, but the black nothingness of death was closing in all too slowly.

 

And still, his timing couldn’t have been worse.

 

“Sans? Have you seen my...”

 

His head arose, seemingly involuntarily. He was too buzzed and disoriented to tell if his eyes were even shut, but his brother was unmistakably there, holding the side of his face with a sour blend of tenderness and anxiety stirring in his chest. Papyrus wasn't supposed to return so early.

 

“Oh my god.”

 

Positioning his palms above Sans’ neck with a racing breath, the younger skeleton surged forward a cyan wave of healing magic into what was left of his brother, praying it’d have any effect at all. And it would have, had Sans not refused to exhaust its energy. He didn’t want to be saved.

 

“Sans! Please!” Papyrus cried, in every sense of the word. Sans’ soul ached with his brother’s anguish, almost regretting what he’d done as countless saccharine images flashed through his dying thoughts: the ambassador’s warm smile, Toriel’s pastries, Papyrus’ hallmark laughter…

 

He’d _kill_ to purge each and every one of them from his mind.

 

Reduced to little more than a sobbing mess, Papyrus hung his trembling head over the monster whose face lay in a puddle of his own blood and vomit. The younger skeleton shook him vigorously, spilling every last useless flicker of magic into Sans’ soul while hysterically crying for something, _anything_ to happen, but to no avail. Sans was only a looking glass for his brother’s magic; his efforts would merely rebound in the opposite direction, showering dazzling clouds of blue throughout the diner.

 

Sans felt his body desperately splitting apart, his soul collapsing under the weight of a relentless overdose. Dust steadily took the place of his limbs, melding with the thick, red sap dribbling down his chin, and soon enough, he was nothing more than a scattered mass of dust and puke-stained clothes beneath his brother’s stream of tears.

 

It's too bad Sans would wake up the next morning with only a headache.


	3. a bad trip

“Sans! You _lazybones!”_

 

The skeleton blinked. He’d already been awake for hours, curled up in the corner of his mattress and clinging to his jacket as if his life depended on it, but he was anything but fully conscious. Pooling within the cushiony impression beneath his body was some hybrid of cold sweat and salty tears, but he was far too oblivious of his surroundings to notice.

 

The tangled string of events from his vivid dream was still fresh in his mind, and perhaps the only thing on his mind at all. It had felt all too real and familiar, even down to the gin, but the overdose of a finale was something so new and exciting that Sans almost believed it wasn’t a dream at all.

 

Reliving the memory shouldn’t have been this pleasurable.

 

“Sans?”

 

His eyes flickered alight; Sans remembered what came next. Instead of waiting for the routine knock at his door, he strained himself astir and shuffled his way to the knob, twisting it before Papyrus had a chance to further disturb his diseased thoughts.

 

His brother was, of course, standing restlessly on the other side.

 

“You’re… You’re _already_ awake?” Papyrus stepped rearward, holding the back of his hand at his forehead in an overly theatrical pose. Sans might’ve chuckled, had he not been so wrapped up in his morbid fantasies. “Color me surprised!”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Sans strode past the young monster with frigid apathy, unknowingly pushing Papyrus aside as he did so. The starlike pupils in his eyes were so distant and small, and little more than the acute sensation of splitting into dust ran on repeat in his mind. The rest of this world proved dead to him.

 

After descending the staircase and making his way to the kitchen, Sans frantically began searching the counters until a certain pair of bottles caught his attention.

 

 _One orange, one blue._ They were both untouched, just like before.

 

“Is something the matter?” Papyrus shouted from the second floor, looking down from where they likely should’ve placed guardrails. “I can’t see you from here!”

 

Sans thought of the pills. He thought of a glass of water and a handful of antidepressants and his terribly elaborate dreams, and he thought of trying it all on his own. But he couldn’t reach the sink, and that’d be so _messy_.

 

“Sans—” Papyrus panted, trotting down the stairs, “you know you can tell me anything!”

 

When Papyrus made it to the kitchen, he found his brother digging through the cupboard in a frenzy, spilling numerous utensils and spices in the process. Turning on his heel, Sans glared at his brother before pulling him violently through the air, bending the sheer gravitational force of his magic until they stood only inches apart from one another.

 

Sans’ expression was blank, but his voice rang with something dirty, something desperate.

 

_“Where are the knives?”_

 

Papyrus winced, his bones trembling.

 

 _“_ The… knives?” the younger skeleton whimpered, face-to-face with his brother. Attempting to step backward only to be held in place tighter by his brother’s magic, Papyrus’ eyes darted wildly around the room, intent on looking anywhere but into Sans’ own diminutive pupils. “The, um, drawer to the left! Probably!”

 

Sans dismissed his magic immediately in a bubbly wave of blue, causing his brother to reel unsteadily to the floor. The smaller monster instantly began rummaging through each leftmost drawer until finally locating the discreet compartment where Papyrus stored his culinary knife set, relieving his nerves like the oceans from the surface: steady and serene.

 

“What d-do you need them for?”

 

Sans naturally picked out his favorite: the dagger-like paring knife. With his remaining prudence, he huffed, looking back at his brother who was still picking himself up from the cold kitchen tiling. “Look, just… stay down here, bro. Call for help. But whatever you do, don’t come into my room, all right?”

 

Sans closed the drawer, knife in hand.

 

“What are you—”

 

“Just don’t come in.”

 

And with that, Sans vanished into thin air. When he blinked back into existence, he found himself alone in his bedroom, his door gaping open like a startled dragon’s maw. He didn’t know how long he’d been absent from the physical world, but he assumed his brother was still lingering in the kitchen, prompting him to shut his door immediately.

 

_Just breathe._

 

Sans glanced down at the paring knife, observing himself in the blade’s reflection. He was almost surprised by his own composure, like he’d done this all before. Exhaling, he lifted the blade and thrust it into his soul without a second thought, staggering backward and colliding with his bedroom wall before falling onto the side of his ribcage. He curled into a fetal position amid the spreading puddle of red, grunting weakly as he slowly drove the knife further into his chest. Sans’ mind was so fraught with static that he hadn’t even heard his brother bustling up to his room, mistaking Papyrus’ footsteps for the last throbbing beats of his crumbling soul.

 

“—or if you’re invisible, but please say something! I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong!”

 

Sans smiled, sorrowful and contrite. This was the end, wasn’t it? Everything he loved, everyone he knew, it would all be gone in an instant. He wasn’t sure if he was entirely okay with that, but he surmised that he had to be. After all, he had nothing else to lose after surrendering all those years on the surface.

 

At least Papyrus wouldn’t have to see him this time. Sans made sure to close the door, and…

 

_The lock._

 

Sans gasped, only to be met with a mouthful of blood and a pained cough. He attempted to concentrate what little magic he had left onto the latch, but his aim was weak and disjointed, causing a sturdy shelf from the wall to burst into spiny little fragments. Before Sans could even lift his head to view the damage, a jittery hand fiddled with the knob at his door, swinging it open without a glimmer of hesitation.

 

“Oh, thank the heavens—”

 

“N-no, Papyrus, don’t...”

 

The taller skeleton froze, caught somewhere between a gasp and a retch. Once again, Sans reached out a shaky hand to force the door shut, but only little blue sparks crackled in the air across from him, singeing the floor below. With one final cough, his body collapsed beneath himself in a powdery smog of blood and dust, his mental anguish ebbing away just as quickly. The paring knife was hardly visible underneath the inky chaos shrouding Sans’ jacket, but it was all the taller skeleton could bear to look at in his muddled frame of mind.

 

Papyrus was too confused to feel anything at first, but something in his chest was stirring uncontrollably, erupting with an angry spout of sobs and hiccups. This timeline wouldn’t end well.

 

* * *

 

Sans’ head whipped up, his grungy mattress recoiling beneath him. His room spun around him in a flurry of chaos and delirium, coaxing him to scream into the shoddy walls for some impractical measure of help, but he held his breath.

 

“Sans! You _lazy—”_

 

“Papyrus?”

 

The pacing of a skeleton behind the door suddenly came to a pause. Rising from his bed and pushing his door ajar, Sans peered at his brother through the narrow opening only to witness his signature smile turn sour.

 

“What happened to you?” Papyrus asked in a rogue whisper, as if he were afraid a stranger would somehow overhear them in their own home. He could hardly take his eyes off the distraught sight of the smaller monster. Wide-eyed and flushed, Sans’ breath was as erratic as it was loud. In the gentler depths of his soul, Papyrus hoped this was all just another one of his brother’s brazen pranks, as much as he despised admitting so.

 

Sans let loose his hold on the door, exposing more of his disheveled appearance as it threw wider. Grabbing his brother by the shoulders and jerking him down to eye-level, Sans spluttered a hysterical mess of words, bordering on incoherent: “Is this some kind of _joke?”_

 

“I don’t know!”

 

_Those three disgusting words._

 

Before the barrier was shattered, and before his miserable iteration of a world was set free, he’d hear those exact words repeated timeline after timeline. Hopelessly, he would try to find someone, _anyone_ who might’ve noticed the universe’s erratic timeskipping, but each response was the same:

 

_I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know._

 

It clawed at his very soul, warping his frame of mind nearly beyond redemption. He’d never imagine that phrase carrying the same vile context, not until now.

 

Sans bit back an arsenal of fervid magic attacks just waiting to be released in a fit of pent-up frustration, but Papyrus’ childlike innocence was far too precious to rip away so senselessly. Besides, he’d never lay a finger on his brother—not in his right mind, at least. But Sans _wasn’t_ in his right mind, and he _did_ lay a finger on his brother; an entire hand, in fact, as he forcefully grabbed Papyrus’ wrist when he tried to check Sans for a fever.

 

Papyrus flinched, nervously tugging his arm away until Sans loosened his grip. Rubbing the sore edge of his wrist, the larger monster stared speechlessly at his brother, tenderness and concern glinting in his eyes.

 

“I-I’m not supposed to be here,” Sans mumbled. “I can’t keep doing this...”

 

“You can’t keep doing what?”

 

“I gotta—” he inhaled sharply, rapidly losing control of his breathing pattern. “I gotta go.”

 

Racing past Papyrus, the older brother fled for the staircase before teleporting his way to the bottom of the steps, his thoughts scattered and aggressive. After reaching the door, he fumbled with the brassy knob before ultimately turning it and pushing his way through the snow-sunken doorframe, failing to shut it on his way out.

 

“Wait! Sans!” Papyrus’ voice called out from within the house, but it was little more than a forgotten buzz inside Sans’ head.

 

The horror was finally setting in—he’d _killed_ himself. Three times, to be exact. But that wasn’t even the half of it, was it?

 

Each time after doing so, his brother would fail to save him. And each time after that, he’d just come right back, like nothing ever happened. But there was something that stood between both, and Sans finally understood what was so persistent in keeping him alive.

 

_The timespace continuum is in disrepair, and there’s no telling why. The present becomes the past, and the future… it just crumbles away, like it was never bound to happen. Can’t you remember?_

 

He couldn’t die.

 

So long as the continuum kept rewinding, death wasn’t in his control anymore. Nothing was.

 

Sans stumbled face-forward onto the ground as he scurried across Snowdin’s main avenue, screaming behind clenched teeth and raking the snow with his fingertips. He attempted to hold back an ugly sob, but the tears were already pricking at his eyes, evoking a fit of coughing and hyperventilating as he dizzily picked himself up from the frozen ground. Then, he ran—he wasn’t sure in which direction, but he ran. Trees slid past Sans’ peripheral vision, indicating that he’d somehow found his way into the forest, but it’s not like he had any actual destination in mind.

 

He wasn’t sure what to do so far from town. His mind was white-hot with a hundred sweltering thoughts, but he couldn’t comprehend a single one of them, opting to just keep running instead. And running…

 

And then, he fell— _again_ —but this instance was different.

 

Sans hadn’t tripped over himself, but rather, an olive tendril. It melted into the ground as he was preparing to pluck it from its roots, leaving little but a burrow in its tracks and a scowl on Sans’ face. He shook his head, and if he weren’t already blurry-eyed, he could’ve sworn another arose in front of him, carrying a tiny, yellow flower at its crest. He knew better, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the plant was somehow _sneering_ at him.

 

“Boy, you sure look upset.”


End file.
